
V, 



lifK pap of Jiff §aint5, 

AT NEW ORLEANS, 



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.JYovemher 1st. 1845, 

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To 

ROBERT BUCHANAN: 

Ton and I are the survivors of a party of gentle- 
men who^ loving the science of Botany^ wandered over the 
hills which surround Cincinnati^ Covington, and Newport, 
more years ago than either of us would like to acknowledge. 

This fugitive has gone about, disfigured and misprinted, 
until I am fairly called upon to take up my child, and give 
it, at least, a decent suit of clothes. 

Remembering, as a boy, the kindness you did me when 
kindness was valuable, I have honor to be. 
Very respectfully. 

Tour obedient servant, 

G. E. PUGH. 



3£n-jSalnfx-BaB. 



I ROSE very early, anxious to get a sight of the great capital, 
and made my way over the cotton bales which were piled upon 
the forecastle and guards of our steamer. Once upon the levee, 
my emotion was of the highest delight — long-expected pleasure 
gratified to the full. I was at last in New Orleans ; and, at six 
of the morning, the walks were thronged with people intent on 
business. I had seen nothing like it since I left home. It was 
Sunday when we were at Louisville, and almost dark when 1 
rambled through Memphis. Natchez was a beautiful and indo- 
lent city, where business seemed but the adjunct of pleasure. 
Here, however, was bustle — mighty Commerce, with her mes- 



JTIxe IBm ^^ ^11 SaCnts 



sengers ; vast wealth employed ; everybody at work. Home — 
my native Cincinnati — rose up to mind. The sky above was 
gloriously clear ; the sun gilding the domes of St. Charles and 
St. Louis, pouring floods of gladness upon the wide levee and 
the noble river. 

With some difficulty I succeeded in getting the ear of a lazy 
black boy, who sat upon the box of a venerable hack, and made 
him understand that I would be carried, with my trunk and 
movables, to the St. Charles Hotel. Behold me, however, seated 
in the rotunda of that splendid establishment, about ten o'clock, 
after a hearty breakfast ; not without having run quite around the 
city already. My eye, for want of a better occupation, fell upon 
a paragraph in the Picayune, a copy of which paper I had bought 
from a boy at the door of the breakfast room, announcing that 
this was All-Saints-Day — the ist of November — when the cem- 
eteries would be dressed with flowers. I had often heard of the 
custom ; and far away, in the cold North, my heart had warmed 
with love for those who thus did honor to the dead. I shall 
now behold it, with my own eyes, said I to myself; but will 
the reality equal the imagination ? 

The next point to be solved was, where to find the cemeteries. 
I was an utter stranger, and did not remember to have seen a 
place of burial in my walks. I could inquire of nobody. 
There were half a dozen old gentlemen sitting about, intent 
upon reading the news, and several well-dressed loungers of 



^t ^eto ©rlcans. 



the younger sort. There, too, was the polite individual "who 
keeps the office," and who would, doubtless, have enlightened 
one — that is, have told me which way to turn, and the names of 
the streets. But it would all have been so much Sanscrit to me; 
and, besides, who would display the least sentiment before 



strangers 



So I sauntered out, upon my own bent, toward the French 
town. There I saw, by and by, a black girl with a basket of 
flowers upon her head — dahlias, japonicas, and the pale, sweet 
Chickasaw rose. New Orleans is the greatest place for green- 
houses I ever saw: you find them scattered along the most public 
streets, enlivening the very air with their beauty and fragrance. 
There was a large one above the St. Charles, at the opposite cor- 
ner of Gravier street, and another on a small street, at the other 
side of the hotel, right beneath my window. 

But I have lost my story almost, and my guide as well. I 
had followed her at some distance, thinking she was bound for the 
cemetery, until she turned aside into a narrow lane and entered 
a house. Here I was quite at a loss, and with no one to ask — 
for everybody around me was talking French in furious style, 
and, really, I could not recall any phrase of that language to 
express my wishes. Luckily, however, the girl reappeared, and 
with her came out two ladies, one quite youthful and the other 
aged, both dressed in deep mourning, with black vails over their 
faces. 



10 JThe Bag of ^U Saints 

I followed at a respectful distance, trying to behave as if I did 
not notice them, and was only lounging along the street. They 
went a great way, turned up many avenues, stopped at several 
doors ; but finally they came in sight of an old church — the 
Mortuary Chapel, as I afterward learned, at the junction of Rue 
des Remparts and Rue deConti. A few more steps brought us 
to the Cemetery of St. Louis, a square inclosed by a low wall 
of brick. There was quite a number of people, men and boys, 
principally negroes, collected around the entrance ; and I hesi- 
tated a moment whether I might be allowed to go in. But I 
made bold and entered, nobody interposing the least objection. 

I can not describe the cemetery so as to give any one much 
idea of it. They never bury the dead in New Orleans : the soil 
is damp and miry, and the graves would fill with water. So 
they build tombs of brick upon the surface of the earth, to the 
highth of three or four feet, or more, with a hole in the side for 
the coffin to be inserted. This is then closed by a marble or 
stone slab containing the epitaph. The tomb is covered with 
plaster on the outside, and painted blue, with specks of white 
and black, much the color of chimney jams I have sometimes 
seen. Above the slab there is often a small black mantel-piece, 
and below, in front, there is a paved space, like a hearth some- 
what, and stained red. At the sides of this there are little 
parterres, some filled with growing plants, some with a single 
box-tree in the center, and set off with white shells. Around 



^t ^t'm (Orleans. ii 

the whole a railing is generally erected to keep off impious 
hands. 

In some parts of the cemetery the tombs were already decked. 
Flowers and leaves were strewn upon the top and upon the 
hearth in front. On the mantel-pieces were vases full of 
bouquets, and sometimes pots of rare plants. Beautiful dahlias, 
rudely plucked from their nourishing stems by the hand of affec- 
tion, were stuck into the strange earth around. Splendid can- 
delabras stood upon the hearth, decorated with paper fantastically 
cut, holding up long wax tapers of various colors. I looked 
about me with a sad pleasure. The grave, thought I, has lost 
its terrors — it is but to lie down and sleep upon a bed of roses. 
Affection is not quenched when the chill of death invades those 
most dear to us. Their tender memories revive with the new 
birth of the flowers ; their faces and their forms revisit our long- 
ing eyes ; their low words charm again our ears as when life was 
once made sweet to us by their presence. Love is the con- 
queror of Fate itself: 

" Love is not love, 
Which alters vv'hen it alteration finds, 

Or bends with the remover to remove ; 
Oh, no ! It is an ever-fixed mark. 

That looks on tempests, and is never shaken. 
It is the star to every wandering bark, 

Whose worth 's unknown, although his height be taken. 



12 ^Tiie Bag of ^U SaCnts 

Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks 

Within his bending sickle's compass come; 
Love alters not with his brief hours and vi'eeks, 

But bears it out even to the edge of doom." 

And when we shall have fretted our brief lives away, let there 
be steps which will kindly seek out our last homes, and hands 
which will sacrifice to us the flowers, as often as spring returns, 
or summer fades into autumn. 

Other parts of the cemetery were thronged with workmen 
repairing the plaster upon the tombs from the ravages of time 
and weather — some painting them again, or furbishing up the 
inscriptions. There were, also, troops of quadroon girls and 
ancient negresses, arranging wreaths and long trailing festoons 
of flowers, and hanging over the epitaphs beautiful lace vails. I 
observed these marks of tender and affectionate respect with 
emotions which I need not express. 

Another part of the cemetery contained some very old tombs 
with quaint French inscriptions — the tombs of those who were 
distinguished citizens before Louisiana was purchased by the 
United States. Some had been rent asunder by trees growing 
close beside them ; others appeared to have been repaired and 
decked, year after year, until those who attended them had 
dropped off to death, and become the subjects of the same holy 
office which they had so long administered. These were mostly 
moldering into piles of rubbish, and soon would be indistin- 



at iaeto ©rlcans. 13 

guishable from the dust around. Some, however, and very old 
ones, were still adorned by the hands of grateful and affectionate 
descendants. 

I next took a view of the catacombs, which are rows of sepul- 
ture running all along the sides of the cemetery. There are 
three tiers in each, and the dead are divided one from another by 
slight partitions of brick. Of course, the catacombs are for poor 
people ;and those which I saw were crowded. The only space for 
an epitaph is about two feet square ; it is upon the slab which 
covers the opening to admit the coffin. Many of these places of 
rest were decorated with small mantel-pieces and hearths, and 
strewn in front by leaves and flowers. Others had squares of 
painted board merely to close the cells, and rough inscriptions 
carved upon them. Still others were walled up with brick, and 
there was nothing to tell who moldered within. These, said I, 
are the last homes of the poor and the stranger ; while my pulse 
throbbed at the thought that I, too, might find such a place to lay 
my failing frame, far from the scenes of childhood, an adventurer 
in the great city of the South. Behind me were the tombs of 
those who had walked in high places — the generals, the gover- 
nors, the important men of provincial Louisiana — men sent over 
from France to exercise authority, and at last interred with 
pomp and honor. As I turned once more to view them, a sol- 
itary chamelion, which had crawled upon one to bask in the sun, 
shot suddenly from my gaze into a crevice of it. Yes, noble 



14 m\t ®as fit ^11 Safnts 

and puissant men, ye too must die ! The earth, which your 
proud feet almost scorned to touch, shall receive your molder- 
ing dust to itself again. And by thy side, Right Royal Governor 
and Judge, the poor beggar who sat at thy gate for charity shall 
sleep the self-same sleep with thee. The worm shall eat thy 
dainty corpse as well as his thin flesh, and the lizard which inhab- 
its his tomb shall likewise gambol over thy bones. And thou, 
lone stranger, who camest to this metropolis to seek thy fortune, 
and found that fortune a grave, rest thee well here ! They heed 
thee not, nor honor thy name, but they — the teeming thousands 
whose loud hum I hear now — they shall come to hold compan- 
ionship with thee — 

" As the long train 
Of ages glide away, the sons of men, 
The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes 
In the full strength of years — matron and maid, 
And the sweet babe, and the gray-headed man — 
Shall, one by one, be gathered to thy side 
By those who, in their turn, shall follow them." 

My heart was full to bursting. I retraced my steps toward 
the entrance. There was now a table just inside the gateway, 
and a silver plate upon it, above which was a placard, '■^Souvenez 
vous les pauvres enfans qui riavaient pere que D'teu^" or something 
to that effect. The little orphans were standing in groups about 
the neighborhood, and, with the usual attendance of negroes, 



^t Jleto #rlfans. 15 

made up the crowd I had at first noticed. I was in no mood to 
slight the request, especially as the plate was almost bare. As 
I passed, therefore, I dropped into it my largest coin. A priest 
of mild and benevolent aspect, who sat in the gate, looked up 
with some surprise ; but I pulled my hat down over my eyes and 
walked hastily away. 

Many of the epitaphs in this cemetery were extremely pathetic 
and beautiful. But the most tender was that of a young girl 
whose tomb was in the row of catacombs alonp; the back wall. 
It gave her name, the dates of her birth and death — she was only 
seventeen — and, beneath, these words : 

Ma Pauvre Fille! 

I never saw anything more felicitous. There is one in the 
Protestant cemetery (I do not remember which row of the cata- 
combs) much like it : 

My Brother 
Williain. 

Near the first is another name recorded, full of different instruc- 
tion : 

Victime de I'honneur! 
Jet. 24. 



16 JThe 2ia» of ^11 Safnts 

About two months after I had left New Orleans, a young 
gentleman (whose acquaintance I had made before this visit) of 
fine abilities and education, and great personal beauty, just rising 
to public notice at the bar, accepted a challenge to the duel, and 
was killed — " Victim of honor." He, too, was about twenty- 
four. 

I returned to the St. Charles. That day, and the next one, and 
the next, I wandered through the streets of New Orleans, and 
saw many strange and beautiful objects before I started home ; 
but the memory which dwells most sacredly in my remembrance, 
and keeps the greenest corner of my heart, is that brief sojourn 
in the Cemetery of St. Louis. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



014 544 951 



